First Day
The flight
seemed to go on forever, non-stop from Dulles Airport in DC to Narita Airport
in Tokyo. At one point Heather pointed out the rugged snow-covered mountains
and valleys of Alaska. Pretty amazing. For some reason after 24 hours in
an airplane, you start to feel that your entire life was spent in that
one place. We hit the ground running in Bangkok, waded through the hawkers
trying to push us into cabs, found the cheap bus to Khao Sun Road, and
even found seats for the 45 minute ride through Bangkok. We arrived into
the heat and confusion of the Bunglampu district, booked a room with a
balcony overlooking the street at the Sawasdee Hotel, dropped off our bags
and escaped into the mayhem. What a circus Khao Sun Road is, with all the
tour agencies, bars and cafes and street vendors selling everything from
clothing to roasted roaches and grubs and grasshoppers. The street is clogged
with travelers of all shapes and colors, some sweating under the load of
one or more massive backpacks, or scampering around wearing tie-dye, dreadlocks
and sunburn, tuk-tuks (strange little three wheeled taxis) keep blasting
through the crowd, a haze is hanging in the air from car exhaust and smoke
from all the food vendors' fires, music is blasting from every stand selling
bootleg CDs and software, every bar and cafe is blasting music into the
street, people wearing hill tribe clothing are constantly stepping in front
of you to sell their crafts, every which way you look is something else
to eat. We buy a few skewers of roasted squid (the first of many great
meals of squid), and then we buy a pair of banana and chocolate crepes.
Not feeling quite steady on our own feet yet, we head back to our hotel.
The massive front lobby of the hotel is a maze of couches and tables and
chairs and lounge areas, with several rows of tables under an awning on
the sidewalk. We grabbed a seat and ordered some noodles and seafood, and
a few sweating bottles of Carlsberg beer which we drank while reading under
the dim lights until late in the morning. We were exhausted and restless
at the same time, and we made our way up to our room to get some sleep.
Day
Two
Here in the
middle of a massive sprawling city, we were awakened by the crowing of
roosters. We washed up at the communal bathrooms at the end of each floor
of the hotel and walked a few blocks to one of the few restaurants that
actually had actual brewed coffee. Breakfast of muesli and fruit and yogurt,
a banana pancake, a mixed fruit shake and a cup of dark, rich coffee. We
headed back to the hotel to relax for a bit, and I sat out on the balcony
to read. The sweltering heat made everything seem surreal, the noises of
the street grew louder and louder as more and more people woke up. Music
wafted up from the cafe down below, echoing off the buildings, Dire Straits,
Brittney Spears, ColdPlay. The blinding sun and immense heat had an almost
narcotic effect, as though I was not only in another place, but another
time as well.
We walked to
the Grand Palace and the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, and spent several
hours touring the amazing spread of buildings. Every square inch of some
of the temples was covered in tiles and pieces of colored glass and mirrors,
the amount of detail is mind boggling. We found our way back to Khao Sun
Road and had a lunch of rice and squid in a curry sauce, lemon grass soup
and spicy squid salad. We headed back to the hotel and did some research
on where we wanted to go next. Took a short nap, then headed down to our
hotel lobby, drank Carlsberg and read until they turned the lights down,
then walked back to Khao Sun Road and picked up a shirt and a skirt for
Heather for the heat. We sat down for a meal of grilled squid and prawn,
then walked down the street a little further and sat down for yet another
meal of noodles and more squid, and suddenly realized we were totally exhausted.
As we walked back to our hotel we saw someone leading a small elephant
along the sidewalk, and for some reason it didn't seem strange at all.
We laid down dirty and passed out despite the amazing noise welling up
from the street below. I woke up after a few hours and sat on the balcony
to read until they turned out the streetlights.
Day
Three
As we were
repacking everything and getting ready to go, Heather pointed out one of
our cats' claws on the floor, and a tuft of carpet from their scratching
post on the balcony. There is something charming about knowing that we're
leaving little pieces of our cats in Bangkok. The sun doesn't seem to be
coming out as we went out for breakfast of muesli and yogurt and fruit,
banana pancakes and coffee. We picked up another shirt for Heather, and
a cheap watch to keep track of the time which seems to rush and lag depending
on the time of day and how tired we are, or how hot it is. I saw a big
espresso machine in front of a cafe, so I had to stop for a small cup.
For some reason,
we couldn't communicate to the tuk-tuk driver that we wanted to go to the
bus station to go to Ayuthaya, so instead we wound up at the train station.
I was given a lesson on proper pronunciation of Ayuthaya by a travel agent,
it's "AH-yoo tie-YAH", and then he further instructed me that nobody will
know what I'm saying unless there is an obvious pause between the two parts
of the word, so it's now "AH-yoo *pause* tie-YAH", and ultimately showing
as many teeth as possible when saying it as well. Thanks to the tuk-tuk
driver, we found ourselves crowded into a third class train, instead of
a clean and comfortable bus. The cost was about 15 baht per person, totaling
about 75 cents for both of us, for the five hour train ride. Along a train
tracks you can see people living in their (almost) natural state right
up to the edge of the tracks. Corrugated steel shacks almost touch the
sides of the train, laundry is hung so the flapping sleeves brush along
the passing train, and the belching black smoke from the locomotive is
blown right into the homes of people along the railroad tracks. From the
endless rancid and fetid canals bloom wonderful forests of foliage. From
the piles of trash stewing in the festering sewers, every single weed and
bush and lily pad springs to life with great bursts of colorful flowers.
On the third class train we were packed in with families and children,
and food vendors were sitting on the floor, with all of their baskets stacked
in the walkway, all of them constantly sharing food amongst themselves
as though it was just a big picnic to be on a train. A vendor came through
our car selling dried squid on a stick - "squid jerky" as Heather called
it. We bought two sticks, and to the amazement of everyone around us we
happily ate the leathery stuff. The squid jerky vendor walked back through
a few minutes later and laughed when he saw we were finished already. For
miles upon miles the train was on the only raised levee of dry land, and
in all directions was water, as far as we could see to the clouds on the
far horizon. Here and there, in the middle of vast flooded fields we could
see a single straw hut above the water, with a long-tailed boat moored
to a ladder. At one point, about a quarter mile from the tracks, I could
see two people, each sitting in their own boat, in the middle of vast field
of shallow water, talking as though they were waiting at a stop light.
I guess with two boats and a train going by it was like rush hour to them.
Finally off the train, we walked toward the town in an exodus of road-weary
travelers, climbed into a rickety ferry to take us across the rushing brown
river to the town. It was like a nightmare I think I once had.
We booked a
room at the Ayuthaya Guesthouse. We had a quick dinner of noodles and squid,
then took the night tour of seven of the nine major temples of Ayuthaya.
Ayuthaya was the capital of Thailand until it was sacked and destroyed
by the Burmese army in 1767. Left in ruins, the jungle reclaimed everything,
and the temples were partially reconstructed to look like ruins where originally
there was almost nothing more than a few small piles of bricks. The ruins
were supposed to be impressively lit up at night, but all of the wiring
and light fixtures had obviously been stolen. Instead we were stumbling
through the dark amid clouds of mosquitoes to get a glimpse of the vast
structures that were barely visible in the glow of the dim streetlights.
Of course I couldn't help but wonder how amazing some of these temples
might have been, and what kind of a country Thailand was back then, and
if one would have been confronted by hawkers trying to sell a hammock while
you're hopping from one stepping stone to the next across a rancid little
canal, in the dark.
I was barely
able to sleep that night. Our room was on the second floor facing the main
street. The noise never seemed to stop with the constant traffic, dogs
in a barking and snarling contest right below our window, and even later
during the night some giggling moron setting off firecrackers for almost
an hour in front of our hotel. Ah yes, fun times in a small town.
Day
Four
We jumped up
and packed to the sound of crowing roosters. We had a breakfast of muesli
and yogurt and a pancake and coffee, took the ferry across the muddy nightmare
river, and then walked through a ratty part of town to the bus station,
and then the endless bus ride to Sukhothai - miles and miles of nothing,
just flat, endless, flooded plains, arriving late in the afternoon.
A brief dissertation
on culture shock: The bus from Ayuthaya to Sukhothai pulls over at the
first rest stop. Under a high awning is an entire rest stop service city,
with dried shrink wrapped food, candy, cooler cases of water, beer, soda,
people roasting chicken on skewers over charcoal, all in service to the
stopping buses. I always feel like a total stranger in these places; the
normal food is unfamiliar enough, but the fast food is even more foreign.
We buy some squid jerky, but it's drier and harder than boot leather, like
trying to chew wood. We toss it and then pick up a package of shiny dried
fish, with sesame seeds stuck to the hard shiny surface. We each eat one
and our mouth ignite in flame. We immediately buy water and toss the fish.
For lack of anything else, we buy a bag of dried banana chips and climb
back onto the bus. We struggle to get back to our seats, and Heather is
a bit riled about everything, tripping over people's legs, not knowing
what the food is, feeling everyone's stare, so she sat and fumed for a
bit before explaining that she was struggling with the culture shock. For
some reason I had never equated that awkward sense of displacement and
the overwhelming conspicuous feeling as actual culture shock. I just assumed
it was that same embarrassing sense of being alone with your own point
of view, singular in an opinion, or just the feeling of being the only
person going through certain motions. At home, in the states, we've been
taught "it's rude to stare", as though studying someone with our eyes could
possibly gain us some understanding of the differences between us. After
a lifetime of acknowledging that "one shalt not stare unto others", another
culture will seem "rude" for staring at us. Usually we could disarm a stare
with a smile or an acknowledgment or a hello, but more often than not is
seems as though the stare has no respect or insight, no quest for understanding,
only to gaze at an oddity which happens to be a person who already feels
completely out of place with the patronizing disapproval of an entire culture.
Nobody is right, wrong or rude, we are all very much the same, but with
generations of the cultivation of different rules of social behavior. Culture
shock.
Upon getting
off of the bus we were immediately confronted by an articulate Thai man,
who welcomed us to stay at his guesthouse. He offered us a ride in his
nice new pickup truck, so we could see the place for ourselves and decide.
As it turned out it was a nice guesthouse, right in the middle of the Old
City section of Sukhothai. We dropped off our bags, ran out to have dinner,
then decided we were still hungry. We walked through the open air market,
and were given a free sample of some sweetly marinated fish. Heather was
ready to buy and eat handfuls of it, until I pointed out that everything
is/was crawling with flies, and served unheated. Neither of us were ready
for such a culinary adventure just yet. We went back to the hotel and finally
slept well.
Day
Five
We had breakfast
and then rented bicycles from our guesthouse, for about a buck for two
bikes, for all day. We rode through and around the old city, and took a
detour off of the paved road onto a dirt lane that disappeared into the
fields. We went from the middle of nowhere to the middle of even less,
riding by small herds of livestock, ratty little huts built on stilts over
fetid ponds, people slaving under the hot sun, working in the rice paddies
by hand. After we realized that the dirt road would just go on forever,
we turned around and started back toward town. We rode around some of the
reconstructed ruins for another hour or so before heading back to our hotel.
Then it was off to the open market for some squid and fish (cooked, thankfully),
then we decided on a second lunch of fried garlic and pepper squid, soup,
egg and rice, more water and then more water. Suddenly the heat, the intensity
of the sunlight and the wood smoke all added up to my head pounding, and
everything started to have a halo of glare around it. Two aspirin, laid
down in front of the fan, almost falling asleep, and then I'm fine again.
We go out to
dinner after a shower, then I decide to find a place to read. Instead I'm
caught up in a conversation with Tom, the guesthouse host. I run next door
to get a giant bottle of Heineken, and Tom laughs. Apparently it would
look ridiculous in a Thai's smalls hands, but it looked about right in
my big westerner hands. He seemed to feel strongly about telling me his
entire life story, so I patiently listened while a cloud of gnats swarmed
around us. Suddenly I'm stung on the shoulder by a small wasp. Ah, the
rich and piercing flame of pain, that seems to swell deeper and deeper
into my shoulder until it finally reaches a peak and passes. I have to
take Heather's word for it when she described the giant red ring that formed
around it.
We step out
into the night to eat again, and once again I feel as though I cannot get
enough to eat. We slept like babies.
Day
Six
We wake up,
have a breakfast of corn flakes and yogurt, espresso and a pancake that
was more like egg than cake, then final packing and preparation for the
bus the Chiang Mai. Our host Tom lined up a room for us, supposedly someone
will meet us at the bus station to take us to the guesthouse. Nothing feels
like a sure thing, but we go along anyway.
We're now on
the bus, more and more people are squeezing in. The bus seems to start
pulling out, and then ten more people squeeze in. A monk shrouded in orange
robes files past. Heather tells me it's good luck to have a monk on a bus
with you, but obviously not for the last people that were stuck sitting
on the floor for lack of seats. And then another stop, three people get
off, and ten more people get on, endlessly shuffling about, people are
sitting on top of each other, standing in the aisles, leaning on each other
for the 6 hour trip. And the division of cultures occurs when a well dressed
older woman gets on the bus. Protocol is for a man to give up his seat
for a woman, and the same thought goes through the minds of the few other
western travelers, "I paid for a seat on a six hour bus ride, then why
is it expected of me to surrender my seat when they continue to admit people
onto an already packed bus?" A Thai man stands and gives up his seat, and
I find myself saying "good, they don't have any respect for us anyway,
why should we cater to their social protocol?". Female travelers scamper
around in tank tops and gym shorts, yet even when Heather dresses with
conservatism, respect and modesty she is stared at by Thai men, and they
comment on her and laugh while we're right in front of them. There is more
than a whole planet between our worlds.
Arrival in
Chiang Mai: So it turns out that a Mr. Chai is waiting at the bus station
with a sign with my name. We were quickly delivered to our guesthouse where
we dropped off our bags and took off into the city. Chiang Mai is Thailand's
second largest city, and the historical section within the fortress walls
is totally choked with traffic. It would sometimes take up to 10 minutes
to even cross the street, as there was a constant flow of roaring traffic.
Our first night in Chiang Mai was a bit much after three days in fairly
rural small towns. We were wandering through the endless maze of the night
bazaar when I spied a green ringed orb hanging above the distant sidewalk
like the moon of hope over the sea of desolation. I couldn't believe it
until we got closer and Heather confirmed it for me, it was a Starbucks
sign. Ah, the smell of fresh brewed coffee, so many choices, so much coffee.
It's amazing the things that can make a traveler so much happier. We returned
to the guesthouse and slept like the dead, but not until we arranged a
day trip for the next morning to Wat Doi Suthep, the temple on top of the
mountain overlooking the city.
Day
Seven
We woke up,
had breakfast, and jumped into a car with our driver for the day. He introduced
himself as "A", or as we addressed him throughout the day as though we
were Canadian with "Eh?". The road up the mountain climbed forever, crisscrossing
and spiraling back over itself as it ascended. Eh? parked and we then walked
up the hill to the base of the 400 steps to the temple. We were both dizzy
from the altitude and the exertion, and then we slowly walked up the steps
like very old people. Ah, beautiful temple, beautiful view, beautiful trees,
every which way we turned was even more beautiful. The quiet, the brilliant
sunlight, the altitude, it all added together to everything being fairly
breathtaking. We found our way back down to Eh? waiting by his car, and
continued on to the queen's residence, which was even higher yet along
the mountain ridge. Unfortunately the ticket office was closed for the
2 hour lunch, and anxious to keep moving we went on to our next stop, the
Chiang Mai Museum. Heather and I gained a quick history lesson about Thailand
from archeological digs up to the transfer of power to Burma and then back
to the Thais, the first railroads and then the latest succession of royalty.
Then we allowed Eh? to take us to a series of handiwork workshops, where
we were educated about the details of such crafts as laquerware, silk weaving,
silversmithing and gem stone setting and polishing, jade processing and
paper parasol making. In each place an attendant would show us through
the educational portion of our tour, only to deposit us into a showroom
where they would embark on a hard sell sales pitch for each handiwork.
We walked out of the whole experience having been educated and entertained
without buying anything at all.
Back at the
hotel we found Mr. Chai and immediately assigned him to the task of booking
airline tickets to Bangkok to shorten the 14 hour bus ride to a 55 minute
flight. Once our plans were ironed out, we walked to a pub, and tossed
back a few rounds of Carlsberg while discussing what island we would use
to start our southern Thailand adventure. Back to the guesthouse, and once
again we slept like the dead.
Day
Eight
Jumped up,
ran out to have breakfast, and then attempted to book our trip to the island
of Koh Tao so we wouldn't be stuck for a night in Bangkok. The attempt
failed, so we decided to go for one last hike across the city, with the
midpoint destination being the holy distant shrine of Starbucks. Then back
to the guesthouse, minibus to the airport, jumped on the plane, next stop
- Bangkok.
Ah, back in
Bangkok. We were late by four hours to catch the bus to Chumphon, the launch
point for the island of Koh Tao. My glasses were fogging up from the heat
while we booked the last available room at our same hotel, once again with
a balcony overlooking the street. We dropped our bags and set out into
the crowded streets in search of food. First we wolfed down a bag of freshly
grilled baby squid and shrimp dumplings, then booked our trip for the next
day after a quick price comparison of two different travel agencies. Then
we sat down and ordered a pair of grilled fish and a pair of giant spicy
squids, also grilled. Like so many of the restaurants you can select what
you want from what they have on ice in a tray on the sidewalk, usually
right next to the grill. The food was excellent, and the sky turned an
amazing orange as the setting sun lit up the smog. While we ate I kept
tossing the fish guts to a hungry cat. The sky was flashing with lightning
while we ordered another round of beer, and the cat kept happily eating
more and more of the fish parts I tossed. Amazing how much food a scrawny
little cat can eat. Just when I noticed a gecko on the wall pounce and
eat a fly, the cat pounced and ate the gecko. Hmm, that means something,
doesn't it? After several gusts of wind a curtain of rain swept up the
street, and everyone scattered. We found our way back to our hotel while
"The Man Who Sold the World" by Nirvana was blasting through the lobby
over the din of the crowd. Time once again stood still as we relaxed in
the open-air hotel lobby reading our books.
When the rain
stopped, we went out for banana and chocolate crepes, then came back to
the hotel and passed out.
Day
Nine
We jumped up,
showered and ran out for breakfast. I sat on the balcony, reading and having
a cigar. The heat and the music rising up from the street once again felt
like something from a dream. We ate lunch and after a series of false starts
we finally boarded a minibus for the trip south. The cramped minibus drove
on forever to the port town of Chumphon. At one of the rest stops, another
passenger walks up to me to ask if I'm American. As it turns out, she is
from Boston, and she immediately tells me that her boyfriend just dumped
her by email only three days before, and she only found out when she returned
to Katmandu from a trek in Nepal and checked her email, and how he found
someone else and wanted to end things with her, and how she decided to
go to Koh Tao for scuba diving certification just to take her mind off
of it; and all of this before I even had a chance to introduce Heather
as she returned from the rest room. Cheryl became our new little friend
for the duration of the night's trip.
At midnight
we finally piled out of the minibus in Chumphon, and waited by a little
travel agency while they compiled the passengers for the all night boat
ride to Koh Tao. We had a small amount of time to find food before the
boat ride, so the three of us went to a brightly lit sushi restaurant a
few doors up the street. We walked in seeing brightly lit pictures of what
looked like traditional sushi across the top of the back wall of the restaurant,
and the menu was emblazoned with similar images. Cheryl wasn't wearing
glasses, and figured she would just point at pictures and select what looked
good, but Heather and I started reading the details of what Thailand considers
to be sushi. We found beef heart, lungs, livers and all kinds of pig entrails
and odds and ends, and raw chicken livers artfully rolled in rice and seaweed
and sliced and arranged, and barely a single piece of fish on the entire
menu. Hoo boy, we were surprised. We immediately dragged Cheryl out of
there, as she wondered what could have been so bad about the menu. Instead
we settled into a little family restaurant and settled for rice and noodles
and squid and prawn, paying our bill and scampering out just in time to
pile into the minibus again for the final trip to the pier.
For some reason
I imagined that the night boat would be a specially fitted passenger boat,
maybe with reclining seats, or maybe even some nice bunks. Instead I find
myself cautiously inching down a long, leaning, slippery steel gangplank
to a ratty little cargo boat, and hop onto the deck next to a half dozen
huge fidgeting pigs in stacked cages, each laying on their sides, each
in their own cramped cage. We first stumbled through the crowded lower
deck, and as our eyes adjusted to the lack of light we saw other travelers
in the darkness, huddled against the walls with their bags. We tried to
make it to the upper deck, but saw that it was already filled with bags
and people, so we made our way back down below. We all lined up on the
floor, feet toward the center of the boat, our heads along the outside.
There was a huge floor to ceiling door open by the only free space on the
floor, and the black shiny water of the bay was only two feet away from
our heads as we laid down. As we wait to depart from the pier, more and
more people arrive and pile into the boat. Surrounding us all in the lower
deck was appliances in boxes, and piles of bricks and bags of mortar, and
the sense of weight in that little boat was a little unnerving. To make
more room they kept re-stacking the appliance boxes, and the lack of organization
was also a little unsettling. It was fun seeing the look of dawning horror
on the newcomer's faces when they realized what the night's adventure held
for them. When we were finally packed in side by side like refugees, they
started up the engine and slowly pulled out.
And despite
the roaring of the engines and the hard wooden floor and the rushing of
the black water by my head, I fell asleep.
Day
Ten
It was the
silence in the hour before sunrise that woke me up. Nothing but still water
disappearing into the dark haze of the distance could be seen through the
open door by our heads. Bit by bit everyone woke up as the cargo ferry
was pulled up to the dock. We clambered out in darkness and said goodbye
to Cheryl, and Heather and I jumped into a songtao, one of the pickup trucks
customized for passengers with padded bench seats. We drove through the
port town of Mae Haad and then into the jungle.
We had arbitrarily
selected the beach of Chalok Baan Kao as a destination only because of
it being described as the prettiest beach, at the south end of the island.
We jumped out of the songtao and were immediately greeted by a mangy pack
of about 20 stray dogs that were stalking the empty beach. We escaped onto
a narrow boardwalk that disappeared around an outcropping of rocks just
to be able to get some perspective to think about where to go next. Resorts
were crowded in along the beach, and everything had the dingy weather faded
look of decrepitude. Heather spotted an isolated complex of bungalows on
stilts along the water on the far side of the bay, so we set off to find
a way across. They were cut off from the beach we were on by another rock
outcropping, so we found a road into the woods and starting climbing up
a ridiculously steep incline above the beach. We felt like we were high
up over the jungle again until the road started an equally ridiculous decline
back toward the beach, on the other side of a mountain of rocks.
We finally
found ourselves in a quiet and isolated resort nestled in its own quiet
and isolated cove. We booked a bungalow that was a good distance away from
the office, almost at the end of a long rickety boardwalk that zigzagged
over the rocks and the water. At high tide our front porch was over the
water, and the unbroken view of the bay and the ocean was spectacular.
Heather immediately noticed the steep steps down to the sunken bathroom.
There were only three steep steps to get fully five feet down to the tiled
floor of the bathroom, and we could imagine how slippery the tiled steps
would be when they were wet. Hungry for food and rest, we went to the resort's
restaurant to order some breakfast. A Norwegian fellow invited us to sit
with him at the only available seats. Apparently they were refinishing
the floor of the spacious open-air dining room as we arrived, and most
of the tables were stacked to the side. I asked if he had been diving yet,
and he replied that he had not, due to an accident. He took off his hat
to show us a long line of stitches across the top and side of his forehead,
and went on to describe slipping on the steep bathroom steps of his bungalow
and crashing to the floor while gouging his head open on the corner of
a tiled step. Note to self: be careful on the bathroom steps. After breakfast
I sat on the porch to read for a bit, and then we took a nap, and I was
a bit disoriented when I awoke to the sounds of water lapping at the rocks
under the porch. We had a late lunch and then hiked back into the jungle.
We made it over the next ridge, and down to the next cove to investigate
a nearby dive site. We had dinner at our resort, and then sat on the porch
of our bungalow to watch the sunset. It was like something from a movie
set; the blaze of colors was reflected in the water like a huge mirror.
As it grew darker, the sounds of the jungle around us grew louder and louder.
We slept like
babies.
Day
Eleven
After breakfast
we rented some snorkeling gear and headed out to the next cove. The dive
was impressive despite the water being somewhat murky due to it still being
the rainy season over the Sea of Thailand. "That was the scariest thing
I've ever done" were Heather's words, when we finally returned to shore
after snorkeling over the shallow reef. While she took a break on the shore
I continued to swim far out where the water grew deeper and deeper, to
the point that I couldn't see the bottom through the haze.
We walked back
to the bungalow and then hiked several miles through the jungle to the
port town of Mae Haad to pick up some new books and have lunch. I had a
cup of hot fresh-brewed coffee and then we jumped on a songtao back to
the other end of the island. We arrived at our bungalow just in time to
take in another amazing sunset. We walked back to the resort restaurant
to have a few beers and read. As we walked back on the narrow rickety boardwalk
I noticed some huge dark shapes plunging through the air around the boardwalk.
I realized these were giant bats, with wingspans of well over two feet.
They were clustered in the top of a palm tree a few feet away, and we watched
the unworldly spectacle of them taking turns swooping up to grab a palm
frond and then quickly crawling across the branches to squeeze in among
the others at the center. By moonlight it was like having a view into a
normally invisible world.
We slept again
like babies.
Day
Twelve
We woke up,
had breakfast and then headed over to the next cove to rent a sea kayak.
Once we got the rhythm of rowing we covered some distance fairly quickly.
We made our way far past the southern tip of the island, where the sea
floor dropped off sharply as evidenced by the boundary of calm water of
the island shelf to the large swells of the open ocean. We turned around
to view the island from the distance, and suddenly realized how small we
were, and how far away we were as well. From that distance the island looked
like a green gem on the water, with a halo of clouds around the peaks of
the hills. The little plastic boat rose and fell over the big swells, and
Heather once again said, "This is the scariest thing I've ever done."
We returned
the kayak and walked back to our resort for a late lunch. We relaxed on
the porch of our bungalow until the sun was setting. Once again the giant
bats started their aerial acrobatics, this time directly in front of our
porch. We walked up the beach again to have dinner, and Heather's stomach
started feeling a bit queasy, so she headed back to the bungalow while
I stayed to read. Everyone quietly slipped away and turned off the lights,
until I was sitting alone under the only light, in the silence on the edge
of the vast dark bay. I felt a strange sense of emptiness as I walked down
the dark boardwalk along the edge of the dark jungle, to the bungalow,
to go to bed.
Day
Thirteen
Heather was
still not feeling well, so after breakfast I headed into the port town
on my own to pick up some more sunblock, another book and a cup of coffee.
Upon my return I dragged her out for some lunch before setting out to snorkel
on my own in another cove, to see the supposed daily phenomenon of sand
sharks coming in to the shore. After over an hour I still didn't see any
sharks, so I hiked down to the closer cove and wound up in a conversation
with a British fellow, now a resident of Koh Tao. As he was cleaning up
the beach of trash and driftwood (his house overlooked the cove from the
hills overhead) he recommended that I hike up to the scenic overlook far
above the southern end of the island where we stood.
I quickly returned
to the bungalow and found Heather feeling a little better, so I dragged
her off in search of the trail that winds up the side of the mountain.
We quickly ascended through the slightest gaps in the foliage, occasionally
finding actual stepping stones. Just when it seemed as though the path
ended up against the towering rock face, I saw a faded sign pointing almost
straight upward to the scenic overlook. In a crack in the rock we found
one vertical passage after another, spiraling around and through the final
column of rock until we were both perched on the flat top of the highest
point. As I snapped a few pictures Heather asked how we keep doing these
totally crazy things. I had to admit I was feeling a little shaky from
the height as well, as we really were insanely high up, and the return
path was completely invisible as it dropped quickly out of sight, under
the ledge we were on. Bit by bit we made our way back down the mountain,
to the trail, to the road, and back to our resort. We then made reservations
at the front desk for the next day's boat to Koh Samui, and finally arrived
back at our bungalow in time to take in another fabulous sunset from our
porch. After dinner, a small white cat followed us along the beach, and
then down the long boardwalk to our bungalow, which was now over the smacking
waves because of the exceptionally high tide from the full moon.
The cat sat
on the porch with us while we enjoyed the silence of our own bay in Koh
Tao for the last time.
Day
Fourteen
The little
white cat was still waiting for us on our porch in the morning, and it
escorted us back to the restaurant for breakfast. The day was starting
with a dark and depressing sky. Suddenly our songtao was waiting for us,
so we scrambled to grab our bags, pay our bill, and bid farewell to all
of our fellow guests, Severe Head Injury Bjorn and Body Cast Bob (the nameless
fellow who was inexplicably covered with injuries and bandages from head
to foot), and the nameless French Guy and German Dude. As soon as we left
Chalok Baan Kao beach the sky quickly grew even darker, and we were suddenly
pelted by stinging and driving rain which lasted the entire way to Mae
Haad town.
It was a short
enough boat trip to the island of Koh Samui, and we arrived to the noise
and filth of the port town of Nathon early in the afternoon. We jumped
into a songtao and slowly made our way to the far side of the island, to
Chaweng Beach, where I had been twice before on previous trips (this was
my third trip to Thailand). After a bit of effort we finally found an inexpensive
bungalow - a thatched roof hut sitting practically on the beach. We could
sit on our front porch and have waves breaking on the sandy beach barely
30 feet in front of us. We walked to the busy road along the beach for
dinner, and sat down to a meal of grilled shark steaks. We scoped out venues
for breakfast and coffee in the morning, and then headed back to our bungalow.
Giant roaches scattered when we turned on the lights, but the ratty little
shack did have a mosquito net enclosure over the bed, so for the first
time we were able to go to bed without first covering ourselves with mosquito
repellent.
The crashing
roar of the waves was very loud and seemed very close, but we eventually
fell asleep.
Day
Fifteen
We woke up
to the deafening sound of the crashing waves, and quickly jumped into and
then back out of the mosquito-infested bathroom. We went out for breakfast
in town as the sky grew dark. In between passing showers we walked further
up the streets to the only Starbucks on the island for a good cup of coffee.
We sat and read while another storm blew through the streets. Once we started
walking back toward our hut, it started raining again, so we ducked into
another place for lunch. We barely had enough of some fairly mediocre food,
so in between storms we found another place and finished our lunch. We
then bought tickets to get back off of the island, bound for the other
side of southern Thailand, an island called Koh Phi Phi in the Andoman
Sea. We then sat on our porch and read for a bit before heading out for
dinner. We each ate a giant grilled squid at one place, and then walked
down the street for a spring roll and some beer while we watched Austin
Powers, Goldmember. We then walked further down the street to where the
bars were filled with hookers and she-males waiting for tourists. We saw
two older couples, wearing white sneakers and bermuda shorts, squeezed
in at a bar, surrounded by hookers, transvestites and the whole circus
of depravity. Very funny.
We headed back
to the bungalow and settled in for the night. At around one in the morning
I heard the wind start kicking up, and the waves seemed to grow louder
and louder. I could feel the rumble of the thunder in my chest as pieces
of the thatched roof started shaking loose and landing on the mosquito
net over the bed. Suddenly I heard the lawn chairs get blasted across the
porch, and the whole hut shook as the wall of rain hit. Immediately rain
was pouring through the roof in dozens of places. We jumped up and got
dressed and condensed everything for a quick exit in the event that the
entire hut was blown apart by the wind. As suddenly as it hit, the storm
started to subside.
We climbed
back into bed, fully dressed in our wet clothes, and managed to sleep until
dawn.
Day
Sixteen
The alarm went
off at 6 am, and we both stepped outside to see the spectacular sunrise
over the ocean. With nothing to do but brush our teeth and leave, we checked
out and caught a songtao to Nathon, the port town. For some reason we boarded
a bus (last time I checked we were still on an island), which drove to
the end of another pier, where we piled off of the bus to board a giant
ferry, while the bus parked below us. The deck of the ferry was totally
open, and everyone watched the sea and sky change colors from the passing
storms. At one point the sky turned black as the water was churned white
from a squall several hundred yards away. As it drew closer I pulled Heather
into a sheltered corner, and suddenly the storm was upon us. The wind blasted
the rain horizontally through the open passenger section, drenching even
the people on the opposite side of the ferry. Somehow we avoided getting
soaked.
We arrived
at the mainland, jumped off the ferry and reboarded the bus. It only took
a few hours to cross over to the west coast, where we boarded another ferry
and set out into the Andoman Sea, to the island of Koh Phi Phi (pronounced
PEE-PEE). We had no luck finding a decent bungalow, so we settled for a
ratty little mosquito-infested room. We walked into the small town and
had a dinner of grilled swordfish steaks before returning to our little
hellhole of a hotel to get some sleep for the night.
Day
Seventeen
In the morning
I realized that the only place to escape from the mosquitos in our room
was outside on the front porch, so we vowed to find a new room after breakfast.
We managed
to find a great place on the other side of the island, which coincidentally
was where I stayed when I was here 4 years ago. We were finally able to
relax on the beach and read, only 20 feet from our room. We booked a snorkeling
trip for the next day, and while walking around the small town I saw a
guy with two tiny monkeys on leashes, playing on a step. Having never actually
touched a monkey, I scratched one on top of his head. He quickly looked
up at me, grabbed my hand and scampered up my arm to sit on my shoulder.
Foo boy, what a stinky monkey. Thankfully the owner snatched him off my
shoulder and I was able to wash off the hideous stench before we had dinner.
We then proceeded to eat everything in site, some excellent pizza being
made by a heat-stroked Italian fellow, grilled squids, tiramisu for dessert,
culminating with a few beers at a little bar on the beach. We went to bed
and finally slept well.
Day
Eighteen
We jumped up
and ran out to have breakfast and then met at the dive shop for our day
of snorkeling at various points around the island. Ever since our brief
experience snorkeling at Koh Tao, Heather was impressed with the undersea
world, but somewhat intimidated by the idea of doing it in the open ocean
from a longtail boat. Heather started turning a little green when the longtail
boat first started out across the seemingly impossible distance from Phi
Phi to one of the smaller islands on the horizon. High seas in a tiny boat,
there's really nothing quite like it. She eventually got into the spirit
of hopping off the crazily tilting deck into some fairly lively water,
and at the end of the day she didn't want to get back into the boat. What
a little trooper.
For dinner
we had red snapper steamed with lemon grass and cilantro, with fried conch
for an appetizer. We decided to book our trip back to Bangkok to prepare
for our flight home. There were no motor vehicles on the island, and we
knew we would miss the peace and quiet.
We had a few
beers at the bar on the beach again, and slept well.
Day
Nineteen
I woke up feeling
fairly ill, and every part of me was aching. When I stood up I felt some
amazing waves of dizziness. Heather informed me that I was succumbing to
the same traveller's sickness that she had gone through about a week earlier.
I immediately started my medication before we even went out for breakfast.
Our plans for
an active and adventurous morning were dashed, as all I wanted to do was
lie down until we had to check out of the hotel and get ready to board
the ferry back to the mainland. I could feel the cold sweat on my face
as we trudged across the island with our packs, which seemed to get heavier
and heavier throughout the trip. The ferry took us to Krabi, where we took
a short bus trip to another station, where we then boarded another bus
for the long ride through the night to Bangkok.
Day
Twenty
At 5:45 am
we arrived at Khao Sun Road after a long uncomfortable bus ride. I immediately
was awake and trying to push my way through an unyielding crowd to get
off the bus. A crowd of Thais was pushing toward the door, as though they
were trying to get on the bus as people were trying to get off. One by
one they would say "where you going?" as we tried to fight our way through
the crowd to get our bags. Amazing, that at this bizarre hour they were
immediately confronting the travelers trying to hawk their taxis and hotels.
We found our
way back to the Sawasdee hotel again, and were surprised to see all the
girls at the reception desk actually sleeping, sitting upright in their
chairs. We had to wait several hours until some rooms opened up, so we
sat in the lobby and read for a bit until we could go out for breakfast.
We checked into a room, dropped off our bags and then grabbed the first
tuk-tuk driver and took off to a street of shops we remembered seeing at
the beginning of the trip. We walked around for a bit, looking for some
oddity to pick up as a souvenir when I looked down and noticed a giant
cockroach walking along the edge of a sewer grate. On the middle of its
back was a big patch of gold leaf, as apparently someone saw the need to
adorn the cockroach with gold. We decided to give up on finding a souvenir
for the time being in exchange for spending some time touring some of the
more notable temples. We grabbed a tuk-tuk driver and pointed out the itinerary
we wanted. He offered us a great deal on stopping at our tourist destinations
and a return trip to drop us at Khoa Sun Road, if we would agree to making
a stop or two at some stores. He explained that if we stopped at the shops
of some of his sponsors, he would get a voucher for gas for his tuk-tuk.
We figured that it couldn't hurt to take a little extra time to help the
guy out, so after our first stop at a cheesy-looking 60 foot tall Buddha
statue we stopped at a jewelry shop. The typical hard-sell pitch was lost
on us, but we were polite and thanked the army of sales staff for their
time and attention. Our tuk-tuk driver was a little disappointed that we
didn't buy anything, so he took us to a "high fashion" clothing store.
We browsed through a catalog of magazine clippings of different suits while
a salesman badgered us incessantly. Once again we graciously thanked the
man for his time and attention and hopped back into the tuk-tuk. The driver
explained that if we stopped at one more place he would then take us to
the first of several temples we wanted to see. As he pulled in to a duty-free
store, he explained that we should spend at least 15 minutes inside for
him to get his voucher. We wound up being captivated by an educational
tour of Oriental carpets for about 45 minutes, and were barely able to
leave the place without putting a deposit on a small carpet. This time
the driver was visibly bothered that we still didn't buy anything, and
begged us to let him bring us to one more shop before going to tour the
temples. Suddenly realization dawned upon us. He assumed we must be loaded
with money, and that we couldn't possibly spend 15 minutes under the duress
of the hard-sell pitch without giving in to buying something, which only
then would he receive a gas voucher as his commission. I can imagine that
the tuk-tuk drivers compared notes about the "big fish" customers that
would drop thousands of dollars in a day, equaling a great commission for
the drivers that delivered those customers, and any foreigner with money
to travel could be that "big fish". When he continued to put up resistance
to continuing along our original itinerary, we demanded that he return
us to Khoa Sun Road without any other stops, and we gave him the agreed
upon single dollar for the entire afternoon's trip. He was fairly pissed
off, but we now had a deeper understanding of how their system works.
Unfortunately
it started pouring, so we were stuck eating at the restaurant at our hotel.
We were cold
and exhausted, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. We climbed the
three flights to our room and called it a night.
Day
Twenty One
We jumped up
and went out for breakfast. As soon as we were done we grabbed the first
omnipresent tuk-tuk driver and explained the itinerary of temples we wanted.
As soon as he started trying to integrate shopping stops into the schedule,
we walked away to the next tuk-tuk. We came upon the same frustrating detours
for shopping, so we walked away again to yet another tuk-tuk. Finally the
driver explained that with no shopping stops, he would need a certain amount
of money to be worth his while for two different stops. Without any more
bargaining, we accepted. We first visited the Marble Temple, a giant shrine
complex constructed of imported Italian marble. The driver left us at the
Golden Mountain, an artificial mountain with a spiraling walkway up to
a large temple overlooking the entire city. On the steps we could hear
the chanting of the monks being broadcast over speakers along the stairway.
The sky was fairly clear from the all night rain, so we actually had a
great view of Bangkok in every direction. When we were finished, we jumped
into the first tuk-tuk parked at the base of the mountain, and the driver
offered us a great price to take us back to our hotel. And then with great
flourish he showed us a gas voucher, and asked if we could possibly help
him out. We immediately jumped out and walked away until we found another
tuk-tuk. These people just never stop.
We stopped
at a restaurant where we seemed to get nothing even close to what we ordered.
For some reason the peanut sauce on my noodles seemed to continue to inflate
in my stomach until I was feeling pretty queasy. At this point I had reached
my saturation point of the tactics of the Thai people. I couldn't help
myself but to taunt them; when they would ask "where you going?" I would
explain that I only wanted to buy jewelry and high fashion clothing. Heather
explained to me that "where you going?" is the Thai equivalent of "how
are you?", except with the added perk of giving them a chance to sell something.
You make a break across four lanes of traffic and half way across to the
safety of the other side a tuk-tuk will cut you off and the guy says "tuk
tuk?", as though you were dodging cars only to reach his tuk-tuk. On Koh
Phi Phi where there were no taxis or tuk-tuks, they would constantly confront
people while saying "boat boat boat", to sell rides or tours on their longtail
boats. Eventually I would just say "boat boat boat boat" to them before
they could even open their mouths. Heather couldn't help but to laugh when
we would walk by a crowd of them, and we would all break into a chorus
of "boat boat boat boat boat" like a flock of strange birds. A Thai person
might not be able to speak more than a single word of English, and the
only word they memorized is for the only item they have to sell, which
always seems to be a single hammock. The people in hill tribe garb don't
even bother saying anything, they just step in front of you and face you
with a tray of beads and belts in front, as though the more suddenly they
can confront you, the more likely you'll be to buy something. And more
often than not, the person that jumps out in front of you has the beatific
look of discovery on their faces, as though you'll certainly share the
wonder of discovery at how perfect their product really is. Ah yes, this
seems to be the foundation of the entire culture.
But allow me
to finish my story. We then took a walk on Khao Sun Road to stop in the
many shops. At one junk shop I saw a giant hand of Buddha statue that I'd
been thinking about since we first arrived in Bangkok three weeks before.
When the shop owner made a first offer of about $300, I decided I didn't
even want to bargain for it. It was comical to see how hard the shopkeeper
was trying to get me to bid, so without a thought I just blurted out a
ridiculously low number and walked away. He kept chasing us down the street,
begging us to bid higher, and when he realized we had no intention of coming
back, he chased me down and accepted my offer. So now the challenge of
the evening was finding a way to transport this giant bronze statue. We
eventually bought a cheap bag and tightly packed the piece in cardboard
inside of the bag in time to go out for another late dinner. I was still
not totally recovered from being ill, so I barely ate anything. On the
way back to our hotel, we stopped for one last banana and chocolate crepe
before going up to the room and packing for our 4 am departure.
Day
Twenty Two
We jumped up
and headed down to the lobby, and the minibus picked us up. In a daze we
went to the airport, jumped on a plane, and started the long trip home.
On the tarmac
in Seattle, the air is amazingly fresh and clean.
One
Week Later
We're standing
in the middle of a blizzard, at midnight, on the Canadian side of Niagara
Falls. The snow is whirling about us while we watch the massive torrent
of black water coursing over the edge. It makes me feel a little sick,
to sense the weight and coldness and depth of the water rushing by.
We start walking
back to our hotel. Together we kick our way through the deep untracked
snow, plowing a new path where no one else has been.
Read about my next exciting trip to Thailand
in 2006, where I stumbled through the jungle, delusional with fever
and heartache.
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